


Namai

by SuddenlySullen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Manipulation, Touch-Starved, Will Graham Has Encephalitis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23852134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuddenlySullen/pseuds/SuddenlySullen
Summary: "I don't like to be touched," Will blurts out almost as soon as the door is shut behind him. He's not sure if he immediately regrets it or if the feeling in his chest is relief.Hannibal tilts his head. "Have I done something to bring on this declaration?"Will shakes his head. "Everyone. Alana, especially. They just… touch me. All the time. They think it's comforting, but it feels like there's cockroaches under my skin."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 472
Collections: Hannibal_AlyaG, Wendigo & Stag





	Namai

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaddieContrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddieContrary/gifts).



> For Maddie, for encouraging me to finish it and being a consistently wonderful and supportive member of the fandom

"I don't like to be touched," Will blurts out almost as soon as the door is shut behind him. He's not sure if he immediately regrets it or if the feeling in his chest is relief. 

Hannibal tilts his head. "Have I done something to bring on this declaration?" 

Will shakes his head. "Everyone. Alana, especially. They just… touch me. All the time. They think it's comforting, but it feels like there's cockroaches under my skin."

"Have you told them this?" Hannibal knows the answer before he even asks. 

Will rolls his eyes. "Of course not. That would upset them." 

"So rather than upset them, you allow them to distress you?" 

"More or less," Will answers, bitterness obvious in his tone. 

"How is it that they're touching you? Perhaps it is not being touched that is bothering you, but the how." 

"I don't know. It's just… touching." Will picks at a loose string on the sleeve of his shirt 

"Would you demonstrate? On me, of course. I do not wish to distress you." It takes considerable effort on Hannibal's part to let his distaste for others slip into his tone. 

Will takes a deep breath, then gives Hannibal a quick nod. He motions with one hand for Hannibal to come closer, even as his own body is reflexively turning away. Therapeutically, Hannibal would call this a breakthrough. Personally, he would call it an opportunity. Hannibal steps in, closer than he would usually be, but not imposingly close. Will could still back away if he really wanted to. But he doesn't. 

"Alana always does something like this," Will reaches out and trails his fingers down Hannibal's forearm. "And I know what it means and how it's supposed to make me feel, but it just doesn't." 

"Cockroaches," Hannibal supplies, trying to lighten Will's mood. 

Will lets out a dark laugh. "Yeah. Cockroaches." 

"I do have a theory, if you would like to hear it. May I touch you?" 

Will's face twists into a grimace before he nods. "At least you ask first." 

"Consent is important," Hannibal replies as he reaches out and grips Will's forearm tight in one hand. "Is this any less… crawly?" 

"It… yeah." Will nods again. "This is okay. As long as I don't think too hard about it." 

Hannibal releases Will's arm. "I think you may be experiencing a form of sensory processing disorder. It is, as I'm sure you are aware, rather common among those on the autism spectrum." 

"So I'm still crazy, but it's normal crazy." Will rolls his eyes, at himself more than at Hannibal.

"If you would like, we can continue to explore the kinds of touch that are acceptable for you. Perhaps somewhere other than my office would be more comfortable. I do know how you don't like to be psychoanalyzed," Hannibal's voice is soft, almost like he thinks he's going to scare Will away, which somehow only irritates Will more. 

"Careful, Doctor Lecter. If I didn't know better I might think you were flirting with me." Will's words are a challenge. One that Hannibal recognizes far too well. 

"Good for us, then, that you know better," Hannibal's lip curls up in the slightest hint of a smile. "Shall we say my house tomorrow? Let me cook for you and then we can explore where your boundaries for touch are, then perhaps find ways for you to navigate life within them."

Will looks slightly surprised. "Do you often invite patients over for dinner and boundary exploration?"

"Patients? Never." Hannibal smiles for real. "You are not my patient. You are my friend. I invite my friends over for dinner often." 

"Ah," Will nods. "I'll remember that the next time you say something about 'professionalism'."

* * *

"Lamb brisket confit with goat cheese polenta," Hannibal says as he slides Will's plate in front of him. 

Will looks up from where he's seated, flushing just slightly at the sight of Hannibal's sleeves rolled up. 

"Oh my God, Hannibal. I think this is the best thing I've ever eaten." Will's eyes flutter briefly shut as he takes another bite. 

Hannibal smiles. "I am glad to hear that you like it." 

They eat in relative silence after that and Hannibal remembers why he appreciates Will as a dinner companion even when he isn't looking for information from him. Will exists as a constant presence in his space without being imposing. He fits seamlessly into the places that Hannibal didn't realize he'd been leaving open for him. Though once he's in them, it's very clear that they were meant for Will all along. Once their plates are cleared, Will seems to shift his weight on his feet. 

"Come," Hannibal gestures through the door. "We can move to the study." 

Will nods and follows, still looking and feeling uncomfortable. He sits at the furthest end of the sofa away from Hannibal, though his body stays turned in. 

"May I try something different with you?" Hannibal watches Will's face when he asks. He sees the moment that Will considers saying no and when he steels his nerves and squashes the idea down. Hannibal picks up the book he's been reading, Aesop's Fables in Greek, and shifts on the sofa so that he's leaning back on the armrest. "Come here, if you would." 

When Hannibal motions for Will to come forward, it takes a moment for him to understand what Hannibal means. Once he does, he moves without thinking to sit in the space between Hannibal's legs. One of Hannibal's arms wraps around his chest, pulling him back to lean all of his weight into Hannibal. The book comes down in front of him, like Hannibal is trying to let him see the words. His arm stays tight across Will's chest.

It's a few minutes before Will asks: "Is this your first language?" 

"This is Greek," Hannibal smiles. "Aesop's Fables. I can read aloud if you like. You will have to forgive some of my pronunciation."

"Completely unacceptable. I will not tolerate anything less than perfect Greek," Will teases him before resting his head on the curve of Hannibal's shoulder. "Really, I don't think I've ever heard anyone speak Greek before. Is it like Italian?"

"Not at all." Hannibal laughs softly in his ear. "And don't let a Greek  _ or _ an Italian hear you imply that they might be similar."

Will smiles in response and closes his eyes. Hannibal turns just slightly to breathe in Will's scent before continuing, this time reading the words out loud. The sound of his voice gives Will something to focus on other than the sensation of being touched and he finds that it becomes soothing. He hardly notices when his breathing slows and his eyelids start to grow heavy. Hannibal feels the moment that Will falls asleep on him. The last bits of tension slip away, leaving Will loose and soft on top of him. He takes in a few long breaths, committing Will's scent to memory, then continues reading. 

* * *

"Hannibal?" When Jack's voice comes through the speaker, Hannibal has to double check that the call he answered came from Will's cell phone. 

"Is everything alright, Jack?" He's pulling on his jacket and emailing patients to reschedule before the sentence is even out of his mouth. 

"Something happened with Will. He came out to a scene and now he's not answering anybody and he really doesn't want anyone close." Jack sighs. "Can you come fix him?" 

Hannibal bites back the snarl at the term. 'Fix' him, as if he were a machine in need of repair so he can get back to work. As if Hannibal himself were a mechanic, called upon to bring a replacement part. He almost tells Jack no. "I'll be there shortly," he says. 

Hannibal drives much faster than he knows is legal. In the moment, he doesn't particularly care. He thinks about Will wandering inside someone else's mind, lost and searching for something to bring him back. Will doesn't hear the car door open. His mind is moving too fast to care about anything around him. Hannibal slides into the seat next to him in the back of the SUV. 

"Will?" Hannibal watches his face for any kind of recognition, but sees none. "I'm going to touch you, Will." 

Both of Hannibal's hands grip into Will's flesh, one in his bicep and the other on his thigh. It's the best way Hannibal can reach without dragging Will from the vehicle and as tempting as it is to lay Will out in front of Jack and force him to look at what he'd done to him, Hannibal doesn't think Will would appreciate being made into a spectacle. Will's eyes start to move, taking in the environment around him and the person touching him. 

"What happened?" He asks Hannibal with pleading eyes. 

"Jack is afraid that he's broken you." Hannibal tells him. "He called me from your phone." 

"Thank you, I guess," Will says, eyes on his lap. "You didn't have to come out." 

"I am your psychiatrist, Will. Of course I had to come," he tells him. 

Will's lip curls into a tired smirk. "I thought I was a friend, not a patient."

"For our purposes right now, I think 'patient' will serve us better." 

There's a soft nod from Will. "Can we go to the hotel? Please?" 

"Of course," Hannibal tells him. "Let me trade keys with Miss Katz. I'm sure she'll have no objection to driving my car for an evening." 

Will stays in the back of the SUV while Hannibal drives. He tries to focus on staying in his body without much success. Instead, he finds himself drifting back into the latest scene he was called to look at. It wasn't a Ripper scene, but something was very obviously different about it. Will had lost himself trying to figure out what. He runs over the scene in his mind on repeat the entire car ride to the hotel.

Hannibal's hand is firm around his wrist when he brings him to his hotel room. Once they're inside, he crowds Will against the wall. Their chests press together so tightly that Will's breathing almost feels limited. He feels himself finding his way back to his body. His hands cling to Hannibal's back and he isn't sure quite when they got there. 

"Breathe with me, Will." Hannibal's voice is soft next to his ear. He can feel the rumbling in his chest. "Feel my chest and breathe."

He does. It's a slow process that feels frozen in time, but he does control his breathing. 

"Thank you," Will breathes. "Thank you."

"Hush," Hannibal tells him. "Have you eaten today?"

Will nods, hooking his chin over Hannibal's shoulder. "Vending machine sandwich," he mumbles. 

"I could have gone my entire life without knowing that there are vending machine sandwiches," Hannibal sighs. "I brought dinner, if you think you feel well enough."

Will nods, but his hands don't unclench themselves from the back of Hannibal's jacket, so they stay pressed together for another long minute. He considers that eating means putting distance between himself and Hannibal. "I don't think I'm that hungry," he says. 

"Would you like to talk about why this particular case has upset you so much?" Hannibal moves back slightly to look at Will when his hands relax. 

"I don't know," Will shrugs. "It wasn't that bad, really. He cut off the guy's hands and put them in his pockets. Jack said something about him possibly being a thief so the Ripper was telling him to keep his hands to himself. That isn't it though. That's too personal. The Ripper isn't so  _ petty," _ Will's lip curls into a snarl on the last word. 

"Are you sure this is your man?" Hannibal watches Will's reactions as he's pulling his dinner from his bag. 

Will nods. His arms wrap around himself tightly, missing Hannibal's touch. "It's him. But he doesn't work like this. This feels… bad."

"Your Ripper doesn't feel bad?" 

A shake of Will's head. "He doesn't- God, I sound crazy. I don't feel bad when I feel like him. His work is… elevated. This was pedestrian."

"You sound conflicted." Hannibal opens his dish and sits down at the tiny hotel table. 

"I am." Will confesses.

"Your Ripper," Hannibal uses possessive pronouns intentionally but carefully. "He takes trophies, yes? What did he take from this man?"

Will shakes his head. "They couldn't tell me. Maybe I don't remember."

"What would you have taken?"

"His stomach." Will answers. "The guy did something with his hands that offended the Ripper. They don't share the same appetite? No. This isn't about the dead guy at all." Will rubs at his eyes. "That's why it felt wrong. Jack kept talking about the dead guy. This is about someone else. However he chose this guy has nothing to do with how he presented him. He did this for someone." 

Hannibal's eyebrows lift just slightly, surprised how much Will has managed to pick out of his latest gift. "Perhaps this person will see the message and come forward." 

"We don't release details of crimes," Will's voice trails off briefly. "But Freddie Lounds does. It could be anyone."

"Are you sure you won't eat, Will? I did bring an extra portion for you." 

"Why would you do that?" Will asks, even as he's lowering himself into the other slightly off-balance chair across from Hannibal.

Hannibal smirks slightly. "I know you and I know you have a tendency to forget to care for yourself in situations like these, so rather than be frustrated at the poor care my friend takes of himself, I decided to take care of him."

"I told you, I had a sandwich," Will tells him between bites.

"Please, Will," Hannibal's voice sounds pained. "Do not ever refer to that  _ sandwich _ again. I'm begging."

"This is actually good. What is it?"

Hannibal's smile returns. "It is a traditional American hog maw, stuffed with sausage and potatoes."

"I'm sure I'll regret asking - 'maw' means mouth, doesn't it?" Will takes another bite. 

"Typically, yes. In this case it refers to the stomach of the pig." 

"That's actually better than being made from its face… I think."

Hannibal smiles, eyes glinting. He can't help the pride he feels watching Will finish the rest of his meal. He rinses their dishes the best he can in the bathroom sink before packing them away. It's only on his way back that he realizes that Will's hotel room is only equipped with a single queen sized bed. 

"If you're alright then, Will, I think I should see if I can find a room of my own for the evening."

Will almost looks offended. "You drove all this way, I can't expect you to do that. I can sleep in the tub or something. I sweat so much it's probably better that way anyway."

Hannibal huffs. "Let's be a bit more reasonable with each other, Will. I won't have you sleeping in a bathtub."

"Can't we just… share the bed?" Will almost looks hopeful when he asks. "I'd really prefer to keep you close. You know I sleepwalk and this is a strange place and-"

"Are you certain that this is something you can tolerate?" 

Will openly laughs. "I'm more worried about you being able to deal with me moving around and sweating all night."

"I'm sure it will be perfectly fine," Hannibal tells Will as he's finally taking off his jacket. He tries to keep his own satisfaction under control so that he doesn't frighten Will away. 

There's a pause between when Will takes off his flannel and when he starts to unbutton his pants. He considers sleeping in them, worried that it will make Hannibal uncomfortable if he sleeps in his boxers. While he's thinking, though, Hannibal starts to peel off the layers of his suit. The sight of Hannibal in an undershirt has Will's brain on pause long enough for his pants to come off. 

"I'm just gonna brush my teeth," Will says and retreats into the bathroom. He grips the countertop and takes several steadying breaths, looking himself in the eye in the mirror. 

Hannibal starts to worry when the water in the bathroom doesn't turn on. He checks the time on his watch, to see how long Will has been. When it's been over five minutes, Hannibal quietly opens the bathroom door and enters behind Will. 

A shadow wraps itself around Will and he screams Hannibal's name, clawing at the counter in front of him in an effort to escape. After the shadow covers his eyes, he starts to hear Hannibal's voice. 

"It's 10:35 PM. You are in Columbia, Maryland. Your name is Will Graham. You are safe."

Will nods frantically, turning his face into the side of Hannibal's neck. He's not sure how they ended up on the bathroom floor. He is sure that he needs to be touching Hannibal. One of Hannibal's hands holds the back of his head. 

"Hush, Will. I have you. You are safe."

"I'm sorry," Will finally gasps when he comes back to himself. He starts to move like he's going to pull away from Hannibal.

Hannibal doesn't let him go. "Never apologize for needing me, Will."

Will gets up off the bathroom floor with Hannibal's help. Hannibal keeps a firm grip on his elbow as they walk to the bed. Will thinks if it were anyone else, it would feel predatory. With Hannibal, it feels protective. He tries not to think about the implications of that while they're settling into their sides of the bed. Hannibal pulls a tablet from his bag before slipping under the covers. He slips on a pair of reading glasses and Will thinks it's the softest that Hannibal ever looks. 

Hannibal knows that Will is studying him while he reads. He tries not to outwardly show how much he's blossoming from the attention. The glasses, he thinks, were the best touch. A subtle reminder that Hannibal is older than Will, someone that can be trusted to take care of him. Perhaps, if he lets himself hope, a patriarchal figure. 

"Hannibal," Will finally mumbles after nearly ten minutes struggling to keep to his own side of the bed. 

Hannibal looks down at him over the edge of the tablet. Will's eyes are soft and pleading. 

"Could we do what we did before? At your house?" He feels guilty asking Hannibal for any more than he's already done, but Will also feels like his lungs aren't getting any of the air he's breathing. 

The corners of Hannibal's eyes turn up before his mouth does. "Of course, Will." 

He moves the tablet and blankets to allow Will to position himself. He expects Will to lay back against his chest in the same way they had in the study. Instead, Will nudges him to lie down slightly more then lays down between Hannibal's legs on his stomach, laying his head down on Hannibal's lower chest. It's more intimate than Hannibal ever could have expected the night to be. One of his hands runs through Will's hair while he finds his place in the paper he was reading again. 

"Could you read to me?" Will's voice is soft when he asks. He knows he's asked for too much already. 

"Of course," Hannibal replies and starts right where he left off in the middle of a psychiatric research paper on paraphilias. 

The sound of Hannibal's voice lulls Will into a pleasant half-sleep where he listens to someone else's words and the sound of Hannibal's steady heartbeat until he's truly asleep. 

* * *

The worst part about being in the hospital isn't the food or the lights or the noise or even the smell. All of those are things that Will can handle. The worst part about being in the hospital is that a lot of people are touching him. Nurses are changing his IV and checking his vital signs. Doctors come by once in a while to poke at one thing or another. Friends visit and rest their hands on him because they think it's going to make him feel better. It makes Will want to scream. 

Hannibal can see that the hospital stay is wearing on Will. It becomes more and more obvious with every one of his visits. He's jumpier than usual. His tone is scathing, rather than the usual soft sarcasm. Hannibal starts to worry that the continued stress of the hospital might make Will react negatively to him. 

"Knock knock," one of the nurses calls into the room. "Sorry, Will, it's that time again." 

Will's brows pinch together. "No." He winces at the tone of his own voice. "I just- can it wait?"

"Will," Hannibal's voice is quiet. "I can't have you missing medications on my account. It's no bother. I was a surgeon, remember?"

"It's not," Will lets out a ragged sigh. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. "Can you do it, then?" He looks between Hannibal and the nurse. "I'd much rather have you do it."

Hannibal looks up at the nurse, who looks very confused. "I'm not sure that's allowed." 

"It's my body, don't I get a say in who's going to be putting things in it?" Will growls. 

"Look, it's better than not taking it at all," the nurse shrugs. "Everyone has been talking about you, Dr. Lecter. I don't think anyone will mind, but maybe we just keep this between us?"

Hannibal grins. "Absolutely," he takes a moment to read the badge clipped to her scrubs. "Thank you, Anna."

"Don't mention it," she tells him as she's walking out the door again. "Seriously, don't." She winks and closes it behind her. 

"I honestly didn't think that would work," Will says once she's gone. 

Hannibal laughs under his breath. "May I ask what the nursing staff has done to evoke this reaction?"

"They're fine," Will shakes his head. "It's just cockroaches."

Hannibal hums his understanding as he finishes putting away the plastic containers that had their dinner in them. He washes his hands in the bathroom sink and finds gloves in a dispenser on the wall. 

"Don't," Will says. "Please? I just. I sound completely unhinged. I want to feel your skin." 

"Skin to skin contact is vital for humans," Hannibal tells him. "It can lower stress levels, decrease heart rate, and help with healthy sleep habits." 

Will practically melts into his chair when Hannibal grips his arm and puts it on the table. His touch is firm and warm, without the synthetic snag of plastic between them. Hannibal removes the existing IV in one smooth motion that Will hardly feels. Before placing a new one in the other arm, Hannibal uses his fingertips and rolls them gently over Will's forearm. 

"I prefer to feel the vein before puncturing the skin. It helps to know what to expect from it."

Will looks up at Hannibal with intense fondness and need. "What have my veins told you?" 

"That you are dehydrated and uncooperative," Hannibal tells him in a warm tone. 

The IV goes in perfectly the first time Hannibal attempts it. Will leans forward and rests his head on Hannibal's stomach while he programs the IV pump. It doesn't take long for the medications to start working. Hannibal helps Will to his bed, tucking the blanket he'd brought from his own house around Will's shoulders. It no longer smelled of his home, but of sterile hospital cleaning supplies. 

It takes less than an hour for Hannibal to convince Will's attending physician that he should be released into Hannibal's care for the rest of his treatment cycle. He's heard of Hannibal and spends most of the time they talk asking about a paper Hannibal published when he was still a surgeon. He's vaguely annoying, but in the end is a means to an end. 

Will practically jumps up out of the bed when Hannibal tells him. He's stopped only by Hannibal stepping close enough to be hugged without Will needing to walk away from the edge of the bed. 

"You are still recovering, Will," Hannibal reminds him. 

Will sags into him. "Thank you."

* * *

"You should shower," Hannibal tells Will. 

Will smiles a lopsided smile. "It's because I smell like hospital , isn't it?"

Hannibal tenses slightly at being so thoroughly seen. "Showering can do wonders for changing one's mindset, especially after long periods away from home." After Will gives him a look, he adds: "And you do smell like hospital."

Will nods a little, smiling like he's won something, and lets Hannibal guide him up the stairs with a hand on his back. His bathroom is as extravagant as Will expects it to be. He expects to feel unsettled by it, but it's very  _ Hannibal _ and that makes it feel almost like home. The hot water on his skin draws a rough groan from his throat. 

Hannibal opens the door to leave. He means to give Will the privacy he's sure he's been missing in the hospital. The sound of Will's voice echoing around the bathroom makes him pause. 

"Stay," Will says softly. 

"Do you need help, Will?" Hannibal asks. 

Will looks down at himself. "Will you stay if I say yes?" 

"I'll stay because you asked," Hannibal isn't sure if his honesty is intentional or not. 

It seems to work for him, though. He can see Will's silhouette behind the curtain nodding. 

"Thank you," Will finally says. "It's, uh, it's a little weird. Everything is a little weird."

After Will finishes washing himself, Hannibal offers him a pair of flannel pajamas. They're softer than anything Will owns and, he thinks, probably more expensive. Hannibal brings a chair from the dining room into the kitchen for him to sit in while he cooks. Will folds his arms on the counter, laying his head on them so he can watch the way Hannibal moves. It reminds him of watching his father clean and prepare fish when he was a kid. 

Hannibal can feel Will's eyes on him while he cooks. It brings a novel warmth to his chest having Will's undivided attention. When he takes a look at the reflection in the mirror, he thinks Will looks soft. Soft like something he'd like to squeeze until it cries. He smiles and turns to finish chopping vegetables. 

They eat quietly, but the whole time they're at the table, Will watches Hannibal like he's a life raft. When the table is clear, Hannibal motions for Will to follow him up the stairs. 

"You'll need your medication," Hannibal tells him. "The guest room is down here." 

"Will you stay?" Will asks before they make it down the hall. 

Hannibal pauses. "I had thought you might like some privacy." 

"No," Will says quicker than he means to. "It's okay. It's okay when it's you." 

"In that case, we should use the master bedroom," Hannibal turns around and guides Will to his bedroom with a hand on his arm. 

Will leans into the touch without really meaning to. "Thank you." 

Hannibal attaches the IV bag to the pole he brought home. His hands are firm when he rolls Will's sleeve up and hooks it up to the IV in his arm. After, he rests his palm on Will's forehead. Will looks up at him with the same soft expression he's been wearing all night. 

When Hannibal joins him under the covers, he has a book in his hand. It's the same one he was reading the first time Will visited his house. Will turns drapes his chest over Hannibal's lap, resting his head on Hannibal's hip. Hannibal doesn't wait to be asked before he starts reading out loud. 

Will falls asleep easily. Hannibal watches the way his eyelids move while the rest of his antiviral medication drips into his veins. Once the bag is empty, he gives Will a dose of a sedative to keep him asleep through the night. Will doesn't move at all when Hannibal slides from his bed and out the door. 

* * *

Will finds himself less surprised than he thinks he should be when he realizes that staying with Hannibal makes him more stable. If anything, he feels guilty for relying on Hannibal so much. When he looks at Hannibal, though, he recognizes the genuine pride Hannibal has when he's able to do something for Will. Whether that's getting him a towel because he forgot one or placing a new IV in his arm. 

It's a gradual change, when Hannibal realizes that Will is starting to feel dependent on him. He wonders how much Will's dependency could be exploited, but finds that he doesn't want to test it. He prefers the safety net he's made for Will in himself. 

It's all at once that Will realizes he's in love with Hannibal. The last time Hannibal sets up his IV, he mentions that Will will be able to go home soon and something inside of Will screams that he doesn't want to go. When he thinks about his own house, he can't imagine being there without Hannibal in it. He decides sometime between Hannibal turning out the light and pulling the covers up that he can't go back to his house without Hannibal. 

Will curls himself into Hannibal's side. His hands grip tight into Hannibal's shirt. 

"You never tried to sleep with me," Will says into the blanket. 

Hannibal scratches at the back of his scalp. "We sleep together every night."

"You know what I mean," Will tips his head up into the touch. 

"You assumed I asked to take over your care because I desire you sexually?" 

Will's cheeks prickle and he knows he's blushing. "Why else would you?" 

"Is it so strange to think that I care for your well-being?" Hannibal's hand wraps around the back of his neck, squeezing firmly. 

"Kind of," Will admits as his body relaxes into Hannibal's touch. 

"You sound disappointed," Hannibal tells him. "Do you enjoy being desired by those you don't feel attraction for?" 

"What?" Will pushes up on his arms, looking down at Hannibal. Hannibal's hand stays firm on the back of his neck. "How could I not be attracted to you?" 

Hannibal hums softly. He didn't expect Will to ever return any feelings for him. The revelation has him struggling to find words. When Will kisses him, it's careful, like he isn't sure he's allowed or doesn't quite know how. Hannibal can't help but find it endearing. He sucks Will's lower lip into his mouth, teasing at it with his teeth. When Will tries to undo the buttons of his shirt, his fingers fumble them. Hannibal covers Will's hands with his own, slipping them apart easily so that his shirt falls open to reveal his bare chest. 

Will moves down Hannibal's chest, kissing his way through the silver chest hair there. He mouths and scrapes teeth over the skin of Hannibal's ribs, leaving light pink marks that are barely visible in the dark. He's soft everywhere that Will touches, even though Will can feel the hard layers of muscle. 

"Nngh," Will groans into a mouthful of Hannibal's hip. 

He pulls impatiently at the waist of Hannibal's pants. Hannibal knows he shouldn't, but lifts his hip and allows them to be pulled off anyway. Will mouths at the head of his cock first, slipping his tongue along the ridge of his foreskin. He doesn't move with purpose. The motions of his mouth are exploratory, without any goal of making Hannibal come. Somehow, that's more pleasurable for Hannibal than anything else. He's never enjoyed or often allowed other people to pleasure him orally. He knows too well what damage can be done with a determined set of teeth, but if Will desired, he would spend every evening being explored by his mouth. He knows Will would never dream of harming him. They're too entangled. 

Will loses himself in the feeling of Hannibal's cock lying hard against his tongue. He didn't have any expectations of Hannibal's body, but he thinks it feels like it was designed for him. When he swallows Hannibal's length down, it reaches just far enough into his throat that he can gag on it. Hannibal lets out a soft grunt and the hand on the back of Will's neck tightens its grip when his throat convulses. He lets it happen a few more times before lifting off just enough to breathe. 

The sight of Will's eyes brimming with tears from gagging has Hannibal dangerously close to losing control before he intends to. Will looks up at him, lips still wrapped around his cock, and Hannibal thinks, in the dark, that he sees the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile before he sinks back down again and starts working his tongue over the underside of his cock. 

When Hannibal thrusts up into Will's mouth and starts to spill over his tongue, Will swallows eagerly around him. His tongue feels like he just ate pop rocks and it makes him smile. He suckles gently on Hannibal's length until Hannibal uses the hand on the back of his neck to pull him off. 

Hannibal wastes no time kissing the taste of himself from Will's lips. He moves their bodies so that Will is under him before peeling his shirt all the way off. Then, he sets to work on Will's. The soft flannel is damp with sweat. When Hannibal dips his head to mouth at Will's collarbones and breathes in his scent, he realizes that he can no longer tell the difference between Will's scent and his own. He groans, letting his chest press down into Will's. 

"This reminds me," Will pauses to clear his throat. "Of when Jack called you out to a crime scene. You told me to breathe."

"Please do keep breathing," Hannibal murmurs into the skin of Will's chest as he works his way downward. 

"I'm not sure." Will is interrupted by his own hiss when Hannibal bites the side of his waist hard enough to leave marks. "I'm not sure I can- you know."

"Do you trust me?" Hannibal looks up at Will with honest curiosity. 

"With my life," Will tells him. 

Hannibal pulls an expensive looking glass bottle from the bedside table. When he opens it, it smells like something deep and woodsy. Hannibal nudges Will to turn over and Will does. He can't help but turn his head to watch what Hannibal is doing. Hannibal peels the bottoms of his pajamas off carefully. Once they're discarded, one of his hands is underneath Will, nudging his cock down behind him. It feels more vulnerable, somehow, than giving Hannibal access to the inside of his veins. 

"Have you done this before?" Hannibal's thumbs rub firm circles on the insides of Will's thighs. 

"Not-," Will pauses to breathe. "Not in a long time."

"Even alone?" Hannibal presses. 

Will chokes on an aborted laugh. "Only ever alone."

Hannibal is more emotional than he thought he would be at learning he would be the first one to touch Will this way. He opens the bottle and dribbles oil directly onto Will's body, watching the way that it travels down the cleft of his ass. Using his thumbs, he spreads Will apart, taking in the way that the oil glistens in his hair. It's untamed and he wonders if Will would let him take a razor to it. He thinks Will might be convinced - He has been tamed by his stay with Hannibal, after all. Will's thighs tremble, jerking slightly when Hannibal presses a fingertip inside him. 

Will grips at the sheets, struggling to keep himself lying flat on the mattress. Hannibal hasn't told him to move, though, so he doesn't. He only whimpers when the strangeness of having another person's finger inside of him wears off and gives way to pleasant warmth. Hannibal explores his walls for longer than Will thinks he should need to to find his prostate. He's a doctor, after all. Any complaints are lost in the stream of sounds coming out of Will's throat while Hannibal works over his prostate. He feels like he's come at least three times by the time everything around him seems to stop and he feels a growing wet patch under the tip of his cock. His ears ring with the force of it. As he's coming down, he realizes he never actually got hard. 

The sight of Will shaking, coated with a layer of sweat and lubricant, and lying in a puddle of his own spend is one that Hannibal intends to draw as many times and in as many ways as he possibly can. He wants the image put to canvas in every room of his memory palace. If he had his way, he would paint it on the ceiling of his bedroom so that it would be the last thing he saw every night before falling asleep. He hopes, instead, to have the real thing. Hannibal uses a warm washcloth to wipe Will's skin clean. Even though he twitches with overstimulation, his body leans into Hannibal's touch. 

"Thank you," Will sighs as he's shifting to curl against Hannibal. 

Hannibal kisses his sweaty temple. "No need, sweet boy. Go to sleep."

"Yes, Papa," Will says and his tone is sarcastic but there's a fresh blush on his cheeks that tells Hannibal he wishes it wasn't. 

* * *

The first time Jack calls after Will has finished treatment, Will almost says no. Hannibal is at the office, seeing a patient, and without his advice, Will's immediate reaction is to reject anything that takes him away from Hannibal. He swallows it down, though, and tells Jack that he'll be there as soon as Hannibal is home. His car is still in Wolf Trap anyway, he reasons. Hannibal might have valuable inputs. If he tried, he's sure he could come up with additional reasons that he needs Hannibal there, but Jack doesn't press. 

The drive out to the crime scene is quiet. Will has one hand holding tight to Hannibal's thigh the entire ride there and doesn't let go until the car is fully stopped. 

"It isn't too late to turn around," Hannibal assures him. "If you are not feeling up to this. I'm sure Jack would understand."

Will laughs darkly. "Are we talking about the same Jack?"

"I suppose not," Hannibal smiles. "Shall we?" 

Will nods and follows Hannibal under the crime scene tape. He finds himself almost relieved that it's a Ripper scene. The Ripper is organized, meticulous. There's no chaos when Will finds himself in the mind of the Ripper. 

The body before him has no meaningful relation to the Ripper. If they met before, it was in passing. This man wouldn't even have remembered. The Ripper may not have even consciously remembered. He was nothing but meat. The eyes were removed while the man was alive. He struggled, but the Ripper is strong and confident. After he finally gave up and begged for death, the Ripper put something in each of his eye sockets, directly into his brain. He was left posed with his chest cavity open and heart exposed, but intact except for a page of a book, with all of the lines blacked out except for "What goes on four feet in the morning, two feet at noon, and three feet in the evening?"

When Will comes back to himself, he knows he recognizes the text but isn't sure from where. Out of habit, he looks to Hannibal.

"It's the Riddle of the Sphinx," Hannibal tells him. "Which I presume makes your friend with the dress pins in his eyes Oedipus." 

"Didn't Oedipus kill his father because he wanted to have sex with his mother?" Will asks. 

Hannibal smiles, the honest kind where his eyes wrinkle just a little. The kind Will thinks are saved just for him. "Not exactly. Freud introduced the element of children competing with their parents for affection. In the original myth it was, all in all, an accident." 

"How do you accidentally fuck your mother?" Jack interjects.

Will winces at Jack's voice. Hannibal's response is a slight twitch that Will thinks is probably only visible to him. 

"So is the Ripper trying to say something about the myth or about Freud?" Will rubs at his eyes. "His murders are never sexual."

Hannibal cocks one eyebrow. "Perhaps his statement is in the riddle. Do you know the answer?" 

Will thinks for a moment. "It's a man, isn't it? We crawl on 'four legs', walk on two, and the third is a cane."

"Very good," Hannibal says, trying to hide the pride in his voice. 

"He's trying to tell us he's getting old? Does that mean he wants to go out with a bang or that this is goodbye?" 

"Time will tell, I suppose," Hannibal says. 

"Either way we need to catch this son of a bitch," Jack growls. "So what can you tell me that will actually help us do that?"

Will flinches when Jack raises his voice. "There's nothing new here, Jack. I can't see him any better than any other time. I'm sorry." 

The ride back to Hannibal's house is as quiet as the ride to the scene. Will wraps his arms around himself and stares out the window. When the Baltimore skyline is visible, Will's posture relaxes. One of his hands finds its way to Hannibal's lap and when Hannibal offers his own hand, Will clutches at it and doesn't let go until they're back in his driveway. 

That night, for the first time since staying with Hannibal, Will has night terrors again. He dreams that he's walking through the halls of Hannibal's house, calling his name, but he doesn't come. Human eyes watch him from every painting and statue in the house. 

"Papa!" Will's scream wakes both himself and Hannibal. 

Hannibal pulls Will against his chest, shushing him softly. "I'm here. It's two in the morning," he mumbles, his voice laced with sleep. "Your name is Will Graham. You are home and you are safe."


End file.
